


The Cliff

by betp



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-27 17:24:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betp/pseuds/betp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Because he's in love with you, Derek," Scott says. Like it's obvious, and possible—albeit like it sort of pisses him off, like he's saying Stiles is in love with a can of soup.</i> </p><p>Derek finds Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Where's Stiles?" Scott asks, glancing away. Scott's always glancing away. He talks to Derek, because he pities him, probably, but he glances away. Because he can't even have a pity conversation with Derek or get information from Derek without making it clear with his eyes all the people he'd rather be talking to. He even glances at Jackson.

Whittemore.

"He, uh." Derek also glances away. "He left."

Scott looks at Derek, then, his face lit red and then green with the changing colours of the lights at Jackson's party. Narrows his eyes shrewdly, and Derek thinks he's about to scold him for pushing Stiles away. Probably pissed him off, probably hurt him, made him leave. Derek doesn't need to be told this. He's anticipating an accusation so heavily that he almost flinches when Scott finally speaks, voice lowered a little. "He get angry and leave?"

Derek looks at Scott, surprised by the knowing look on his face. "Uh. Yeah." Correction: he got _livid_ and left. Snapped something nasty about going to juvenile parties when there's important shit to do. Sharply pushed Derek's hand away and stormed out.

One corner of his mouth pushing up ruefully, Scott nods. Glances away again. Derek appreciates it this time. "He'll do that," Scott says, "around this time of year."

Derek cringes, because he _knew_ Stiles' mother died in March, he _knew_ this. Stiles deals with death differently than Derek does. Scott takes a sip from his red plastic cup, eyes scanning the room and resting on Allison Argent, who's dancing, sandwiched between Lydia Martin and Jackson and cracking a smile without looking deranged for the first time since Victoria attacked Scott two years ago.

Scott says, "He usually avoids me for a while, and then one day he's back to normal and we don't talk about it." There's a pause, filled with the dulcet tones of Flo Rida. Derek tries to keep his face smooth and clear of any hint of the hissy fit he wants to throw. He's taking a deep breath when Scott adds, "He'd probably talk to _you_ , though."

Derek looks at him.

"If you asked him to."

"Why me?" Derek's asking before he can stop himself.

Scott looks at him like he feels _bad_ for him. It reminds Derek distinctly of Laura. Derek would say a stupid thing and Laura would look at him like that, sigh, "Oh, Derek," flick him in the forehead and correct him. "Because he's in love with you, Derek," Scott says. Like it's obvious, and possible—albeit like it sort of pisses him off, like he's saying Stiles is in love with a can of soup.

Derek stops monitoring his face because he's thinking this over, turning it over and over in his mind like a stone on the shore. He's remembering Stiles and finding it impossible to believe. Thinking of the way they fucking fight, all the time, the fact that Stiles can't even let what Derek eats slide, he has to poke at him about it. Derek thinks about the way Stiles treats him, and it doesn't compute, when he thinks about the way Stiles treats Lydia. Lydia's perfect to Stiles no matter what, when, how often she eats. Lydia Martin could wear a space suit and Stiles would tell her she looked beautiful. Then he would tell everyone else she looked beautiful. Derek, Derek gets "Your hair is ridiculous" and "When do you find the time to buy all these goddamn leather jackets?" and "Fries in mayo, _wow_ , looks _delicious_ , what planet are you _from_?" and Derek responds, "It tastes good, and I'm not mocking your eating habits," and Stiles just laughs at him and steals the fries with no mayo on them and—

"You're overthinking this," Scott tells Derek. "Just go find him, he's probably—"

"At the cliff," Derek finishes, because Stiles always goes to the cliff above the town when he's feeling pensive. And for the first time (and let's face it, probably the last time, too) he looks approving of Derek.

"Yeah," he says, lips twitching into a grin. "At the cliff."

One hand in his pocket, Scott walks away from Derek to go talk to Isaac, and Derek backs nervously out of the room.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek only went to the party because Stiles was going.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek is breathless when he finds the Jeep, thrown askew between a couple trees, one front tire half up on top of a rock. It's like an ad. He keeps walking through the trees for a minute and finds the cliff, with Stiles perched right on the edge of it. Feet dangling.

Derek steps closer, makes sure to make a little noise so Stiles isn't startled enough to fall down into the valley like a penny off the Empire State. Stiles turns, stares at him dully.

"You're gonna fall down there one of these days," Derek tells him.

Stiles snorts, turns back towards the view. "God willing," he says.

And the view is nice, at least. Derek's always liked it. Sprawling hills sort of framing the meager town, trees poking up. Clouds gathering like lace trim around the tops of the mountains. Beacon Hills is a mess of blurry buildings and lights through the fog, nestled in the middle of all the hills. Like. Well, like a beacon. In the hills. It's pretty; no wonder Scott tends to meet his romantic interests out here, for holding hands and giggling and kissing and whatever else Scott likes to do. Derek rolls his eyes, drops down on the cliff edge next to Stiles.

Stiles glances at him, sidelong. "You're gonna fall down there," he says drily.

Derek doesn't like it. _He's_ dry; Stiles is—Derek doesn't want to say _wet_ , because—he's _jubilant_ , okay, he isn't _dry_. Dry is too cynical for Stiles. "If you want me to go," Derek offers, but Stiles pushes the corners of his mouth down, shakes his head.

"Nah, it's fine," he sighs. After a minute or two, he glances back at Derek, one eyebrow up. "You sniff me out or something?" Derek turns his head, squints at him. "Pick out my heartbeat? Follow the smell of my angst? Scott always werewolfs me out whenever he can't immediately find me."

Derek can't quite suppress a laugh. "I knew you'd be here," he says, and Stiles deflates significantly.

"Guess I'm not as subtle as I thought."

"Or maybe I know you," rebuts Derek, irritated. He watches Stiles' profile for a moment. Something about the shape of him is appealing. "You okay?"

Stiles bubbles out an ugly, mirthless laugh. "Peachy," he says. "Thought you were smart, Derek."

"Thought _you_ were, _Stiles_ ," Derek says back. "I _know_ you're not okay." Stiles hunches his shoulders a little. "That was a conversation prompt." Stiles stares, jaw clenched, into the abyss. "It's been three years," Derek adds. "Maybe you should talk to someone about it. If not me, then—"

"I'm tired of losing things," Stiles bursts out, sounding surprised that he can say it. He blinks. Then he gains momentum. "And it's stupid," he goes on like he's scolding Derek. "It's stupid because it _has_ been, it's _been_ _three years_ and it gets _worse_ every year. I'm not moving _on_ , I'm—I'm further entrenching myself in _loss_." He turns, looks at Derek, who is sitting quietly, shocked into silence. He looks _enraged_. "And I _keep_ losing. I keep _losing_ things, Derek. I lose _everything_. Lydia's not even the same person she was when I met her. Erica is dead. She's _dead_ , and I don't—" He cuts himself off, shakes his head and blinks rapidly at the valley. "I'm tired of losing people," he decides quietly. There's a long pause, probably for Derek to breathe, which he hasn't done since Stiles started talking.

A cold is setting in, and Stiles is rubbing his hands together between his knees, elbows locked, like if he just tenses up more, he'll warm up. Derek thinks about drawing him in, absorbing the goosebumps from his flesh. And then he shakes the thought. "You haven't lost everyone," he tells him instead.

Stiles looks at him bleakly.

"Your dad," Derek says. Tips his head back, looks at the moon. "Scott."

"You?"

Derek looks back at him. Sometimes Stiles does look at him like this, open, like Derek is some kind of enigma, and would be if he was just human or not, would be no matter _what_ he was. Derek's never known what to _do_ with that. What do you do with someone who acts like you have an impassable depth to you, like you're more than just some asshole who shows up to things and places uninvited to lurk? Not that Stiles doesn't tease him ruthlessly about showing up to things and places uninvited to lurk.

They kiss. Abruptly, almost. Meet halfway between them, and Stiles gives this little hum, weakly fists his right hand in Derek's t-shirt, which is green, it's green because Stiles made fun of him for wearing grey all the time. Derek gingerly stretches an arm around Stiles' back, which is broader than he'd ever thought to imagine, and hauls him in closer so their thighs are pressed flush together, and Stiles nips lightly at Derek's lower lip. Pulls back slowly, and stares at him.

"Uh," Stiles says, and his voice cracks, and Derek's lips twitch, because that's an accomplishment of Derek's. Stiles' mouth is swollen and wet and red and Derek did that, Derek did something good for fuckin' once. "Y'kissed me," Stiles tells him like it's bad news.

It's good news. "Shut up," Derek responds, and Stiles lays his head on Derek's shoulder with a sigh.

"Just so you know it's _me_ you kissed," Stiles is slurring. "Not, like, _Boyd_ or someone you actually _like_."

"I like you," Derek replies. Stiles snorts.

"You wouldn't be saying that, probably, if you knew it meant we were totally a couple now." Stiles' hand is still fisted in Derek's shirt, and he loosens his fingers and it drops into his lap. "But I do kinda wanna blow you, that's what being with me means."

Derek shakes his head.

Stiles quips, "Surprise, I'm a cumslut!"

"Shut. Up."

They watch the clouds twist and roll leisurely around, miniscule cars move about down in the city, and Derek… hasn't been this peaceful in years. It's been years, and he feels himself relax into Stiles, feeling like some of these muscles have been tense since he and Laura smelled the smoke, since Laura took the change.

"You gotta promise I won't lose you," Stiles says, voice pitched low like he's trying to hide how vulnerable he is. Hide his affectation, he's just casually begging Derek not to leave him.

Derek's never had someone beg him not to leave. He takes a deep breath, and says, "You won't," and for the first time in a very long time, he thinks that might be true.

Stiles is grounding him and the moon is bright and the smell of Stiles' blood pumping under his skin is soothing, and Derek—

"Good," Stiles decides, disentangling himself from Derek suddenly, "because I'm starting to feel like we might actually fall into this cliff and freeze. C'mon."

Derek gets up, even though he reckons he may already have fallen.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They walk back to the Jeep. "Let's go someplace I can blow you," Stiles suggests. 
> 
> Derek sighs. 
> 
> "Then you can blow me, and we can rock-paper-scissors for who tops, and--" 
> 
> "It's gonna be me." 
> 
> "No, it isn't, I bet you totally pick 'rock' every time."


End file.
